


and peggy!

by queerwixen



Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Alternate Universe - Temeraire Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 19:19:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6919798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerwixen/pseuds/queerwixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy resigned from His Majesty's Aerial Corps in 1776.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was just past noon when the first hints of their proximity to the borders of Albany appeared: thin pillars of smoke rising from a collection of Kanien'kehá:ka longhouses; Peggy’s clan, by her mother. From this Peggy surmised that they were only a few miles away from the house. They were flying above the Hudson, this flowing in a nominally straight line from New York City, where they had begun their journey, to Albany; and the house was built on the western side of the very same river, thus making it a convenient trail to follow. 

A middle-weight dragon was dozing on the sands by the river, half-submerged in the water beside the elm-bark canoes of the tribe; it was an exceedingly warm day. It raised its head inquisitively when the Haastig-Vleugel’s shadow passed above it. Peggy waved, for she could see it was Desagondensta, her cousin’s companion. Desagondensta bugled in reply, and then lay down once more, shutting his eyes now that he had seen that there was no danger.

Soon after, the house came into view: a large, red-brick building, facing the river and the pastures, where Peggy could see tiny cows grazing in the distance. The garden was still obscured from view by the woods, but Peggy imagined she could already smell the sweet scent of the plants within it. The annuals would still be in bloom, she knew, even if she had missed the roses.

When the garden did appear before them, Peggy placed a hand on the left side of her escort, and pointed to the large, grassy field just beside it: the cleared space had been established with dragons in mind, when Father began to realize that perhaps there would be more draconian visitors than he had properly prepared for. There was a barn-like building, for overnight visitors; and they were welcome to partake of the livestock. As long as they asked, of course.

The Haastig-Vleugel put down, and Peggy unlatched her carabiners and dismounted with practiced ease, slinging her satchels across her shoulders. The currency in the colonies had never been the most stable, and now with the unrest it was all ahoo; so after a period of good-natured haggling, they settled on a cow and a string of wampum as adequate payment, and Peggy left with the questioning and increasingly panicked moos of the cow being brought up by one of the farmhands fading behind her. 

Inside was a buzz of activity, as usual. Peggy was the only one who did not live at home, diminishing the horde of children to five; still a respectfully intimidating number, and containing a large spread of ages. There were servants going from room to room, cleaning; the rear entrance of the house stood open to let fresh air in. She could hear women chattering in the family parlor immediately to the right of the entrance: her mother, surely, and probably Eliza as well. As soon as Peggy’s boots hit the floor of the entrance hall, the voices died down for a brief moment, and then rose again in excitement. Angelica appeared in the door; her face broke out into a smile when she saw Peggy standing there, dusty from travel and with the harness still on. 

“Sister!” she exclaimed in delight, rushing over to embrace Peggy, and bestow several cheek-kisses in her joy. Peggy felt a certain lightening of some invisible weight on her shoulders, which she had previously not noticed, and it only grew lighter when Eliza, too, came rushing into the hall and repeated the greetings. 

“Hello,” Peggy said, a little dry, once she had been kissed all over her face, and peeled out of her oilskin coat, so that she might remove the harness, this being put on top of her shirt and waistcoat but underneath the coat, to prevent it from sliding around.

“Margarita?” her mother called from the parlor. “Come here, so that I might look at you: I am too fat to rise, now,” being in her fifth month of pregnancy with her seventh child.

“Do not speak like that, _ista,_ ” Angelica said, admonishing, and rushed back to the parlor, Eliza and Peggy following at a more leisurely pace: neither of them possessed Angelica’s boundless energy.

Their mother Tekahionwake was sitting in her favorite arm-chair by the window with the sun streaming in. She had probably seen Peggy coming up along the walkway. She was some forty years of age, with not a gray hair on her head, and a stately posture, even sitting down and so far along. She had put down the needlework she had been working on, and Peggy was not so well-versed in stitch that she could identify the creation at a glance; something for the baby, in all likelihood. Peggy hovered uncertainly in the doorway. Eliza had picked up her embroidery, and Angelica was seated next to a stack of books. Thomas Paine’s _Common Sense_ was splayed out on the table. It was strange, to stand here: Angelica’s choice of literature and the size of her mother’s belly was proof that time had passed in Peggy’s absence, but somehow it all seemed unchanged from when last Peggy had been home last July, and indeed unchanged from her childhood as well. Angelica read and wrote, Eliza embroidered, and her mother - well, her mother was pregnant. The thought felt a little uncharitable.

Her mother gestured for her to sit down; Peggy did, carefully picking her way over the baskets of thread and Angelica’s books. There was a pot of ink next to a quill, and a stack of notes and half-finished letters, all in Angelica’s hand. _Dear Mr Kaintwakon…; Madam Degonwadonti…;_ Peggy tore her eyes away. A hundred miles from Boston, the Revolution was reaching further inland.

She felt strangely out of place in this familiar room: clumsy, almost. She sat gingerly on the edge of the seat, so as not to dirty the fabric, and hunched her shoulders a little, so she would not appear so large. Peggy grew suddenly conscious of how inappropriate it was for a lady of society to show herself so brazenly in breeches, as if she were a man. No one spoke a word of it; why should they? Peggy had been in the Corps since she was eleven, and she had been hard to find in a gown ever since. But she felt a sore thumb nonetheless.

“So,” Angelica said eagerly, as soon as Peggy was sitting. She was leaning forward in anticipation, books and letters forgotten. “What is the word of the war?”

“Angelica,” Tekahionwake scolded. “She has not been home ten minutes, and you are already interrogating her.”

“It is alright, _ista,_ ” Peggy interjected, smiling at their mother: the war, she knew. She turned back to Angelica. She could see in the corner of her eye that Eliza had slowed down her stitching, so as to better listen in, without giving sign of eavesdropping. “It is not much changed; and even if it were we do not notice much in the coverts, as you know. The _Nancy_ was destroyed; a merchant’s brig coming in to Philadelphia with supplies for the war effort, from St. Croix. - Although I suppose you may have heard already: it was in the end of June.”

“Did you see action?” Eliza asked, attempting to maintain a nonchalant tone and failing. _Ista_ did not reprimand her; she too seemed to be awaiting Peggy’s response.

“Yes,” Peggy said, a little uncomfortable; she of course had not been on the side of the Patriots, but on the back of a dragon of His Majesty’s Aerial Corps. “Obversaria was stationed in New Jersey for some time, for patrols, until reinforcements arrived: we provided aerial support for Captain Bellew and the fleet.” She did not wish to say more: the sight of the _Nancy_ in flames, sinking into the sea, bodies and cargo bobbing in the water beside her, while Peggy’s ears rang with the sound of the explosion, was a memory that had haunted her for weeks after the fact; she did not wish to invite it back again.

It was strange to sit here, in the home of a Patriot, and speak so casually of an American loss: one of the first of the war. Stranger still that the home was also hers, and the Patriot was her father. Eliza, ever empathic, seemed to sense her mood, conflicted though it was, and gently steered the conversation into safer ports: the gossip from New York City, Obversaria’s health; trivial matters that required no show of allegiance. But her disturbed thoughts still lingered in the back of her mind, even as she slowly settled into the sofa, and the conversation.

 

“So what’s eating you, then?” Waneek asked bluntly, expertly threading the beads on the sinew string. Her hands were flashing quickly, the seemingly random pattern resolving itself into a handsome wampum collar; for Desagondensta no doubt. The dragon himself was napping in the shade of the trees, exhausted after a day of hunting for both himself and a village of sixty humans. Waneek and Peggy sat with their backs to one of the longhouses, seeking some solitude from the rest of the village and baking in the pleasant warmth of the sunset. 

Peggy shrugged. They were speaking Kanien’kehá:ka, and Peggy could admit that her grasp of that tongue was not so great as it once had been, when she was younger and still lived at home. “The home was making me tired,” she said clumsily; she was forced to eschew any polite phrasing in her uncertainty. Waneek hummed in encouragement. Peggy picked at her own wampum string instead of replying. Hers was a simple, single string, with some haphazardly chosen beads; she had none of the skill Waneek possessed.  
The truth was as she had said. She had spent that first afternoon in the parlor, listening to Eliza and Tekahionwake speak of the running of the house and life in Albany: the orchard coming along, the new rose plant in the garden, Molly So-and-so marrying and moving to the City; Eliza sounded wistful. Angelica scribbled away, occasionally asking for input for some turn of phrase, or offering an acerbic comment on the goings-on in Albany. However much Peggy tried to put it out of her mind, that odd feeling of disconnect would surface once more: she was an outsider, temporarily let in to observe a proper family’s daily life.

They had eaten dinner in the dining room, to celebrate Peggy’s homecoming; every member of the family coaxed to eat at once - a difficult task, with Philip and Angelica in the house, engrossed as they were in their work. Her sisters and parents were mostly unchanged since she had last seen them, but the same could not be said for her brothers: little John had turned into a colt with a cracking voice, and Philip Jeremiah was taking a page out of Angelica’s book: he had brought a book with him to the table. And Rensselaer, well, he was still so young as to not even remember her face, and only watched her with curiosity and mild suspicion, kicking his legs. He managed to smear his food all over his face, despite no attempt to dirty himself in this way: he simply could not guide his fork into his mouth. Eliza, beside him, was evidently used to this; she would clean his face without being asked, and cut up his food. 

The next day had proceeded in the same steady pace: despite the letters coming and going, and the lack of certain goods in the pantry, life, it seemed, continued for the Schuylers. Philip Jeremiah and Rensselaer rushed around in the house, shouting and triumphantly waving their toy soldiers in the air, while John played the rôle of the reluctant guardian; Peggy had seen him crouch down with his brothers to play in the garden. Tekahionwake was still the lady of the house, directing the flow of traffic with experience. Eliza had invited some of her acquaintance for tea; last Peggy had seen, they were sitting in the guest parlor and giggling over some jest known only to them. Peggy had stood in the entrance hall just out of sight and listened to them for a time, feeling a voyeur while she debated announcing her presence, ultimately leaving them in peace.

Angelica had come flying out of the upstairs study sometime after lunch, declaring that she was heading to the village to speak to the clan mother. Peggy, grateful for any excuse that would allow her to leave the house, had gone with her. Angelica had in all likelihood returned to the house by now, but Peggy remained with Waneek.  
Waneek was Tekahionwake’s cousin, through their mothers: Waneek’s mother, Ojistah, was the clan mother for the Kanien´kehá:ka wolf clan, and her youngest sister was Kahente: Peggy’s grandmother. There had been some tension in the family, when Kahente had eloped with John van Rensselaer, and married him: Kahente had shed much of her Kanien’kehá:ka lifestyle when she had moved to Albany. Tekahionwake had tentatively reached out, after her mother’s passing in the year ‘47, and Ojistah had welcomed her with open arms: they were, after all, family.

They had all of them loved to come down here as children, Eliza, Angelica, and Peggy: they loved Albany, and the life at Schuyler Mansion. But it was hard to deny that they had been odd ducks in Albany’s upper echelons: none of the other children had skin as naturally brown as theirs, or spoke Kanien’kehá:ka with such ease, at least back when they were young. It was different now; the boys had yearmates with Mahican parents, or some older sibling married to a Seneca. But when Peggy and her sisters had been young, the village had been a place of shelter, where the people looked and spoke like them, and the only way to keep the fragile flame of their heritage alive. Tekahionwake had been distant from the tribe growing up: Kahente and Ojistah were exceptionally stubborn, and Kahente had chosen to sever her ties instead of apologising; not that she should have needed to, of course.

But Tekahionwake, too, must have felt as they had done, when she was a child: even if she did not speak Kanien’kehá:ka, she had encouraged their linguistic pursuits, and let them dress in the Kanien’kehá:ka way. Even when she had nearly fainted the first time she had seen them running around in deerskin skirts and bare chests in the summer, she had not taken them away; instead she had laughed, a little helplessly.

It was how she was dressed now, too: Ojistah had taken one look at them in their gowns, and Angelica and Peggy had shared a grin and changed into the deerskin skirts Ojistah had thrown at them. It was exceptionally freeing, in a very literal way: when on duty, Peggy was forced to bind her breasts down, so as not to wholly give herself away should she be spotted by someone not an aviator. The dresses she wore when not on duty were restricting in other ways: she was unable to go anywhere with speed, and anytime she hitched her skirts up to stride more easily, people stared at her bared ankles and calves. Here, no-one cared what she looked like: her muscled body was not something to be boggled at in surprise, and the scars she had collected were not uncommon to a people like the Kanien’kehá:ka. Waneek was dressed similarly, except she had a collection of bead necklaces as well: Desagondensta liked it when the two of them wore matching jewelry. 

“I feel - lost?” Peggy continued, after a moment of silent wampum-weaving had passed. “I am not home. You understand?” _I am not at home in my own home,_ she wanted to say.

"I take your meaning, yes, “ Waneek said, nodding. She stopped her weaving to examine the collar. “I cannot say I have ever felt the same way; the village has always been home to me. This is a new sensation to you, I take it? I hope you have not felt this way for a long time, and not said anything; you know you can always speak with me,” she added.

“I know, I know,” Peggy rushed to reassure her: Waneek had always been a confidant, despite the twenty-year difference between them. “I suppose it is. I felt it yesterday, but not before.”

Waneek grunted in understanding; she was finishing the collar now. “What has changed, then?”

Peggy struggled to find the words for a moment. “You know I am in the Aerial Corps,” she said slowly. _The Aerial Corps, ___she had to say in English. “I think I have to leave soon.” _Reisgn, I have to resign._

Waneek raised an eyebrow at her. “The circumstances have come to a head, then?” she asked cautiously. Peggy inclined her head in agreement: her presence in the Corps had not been frowned on, as such, by any party except perhaps the most conservative parts of the Admiralty, all the way in London - but she had stuck out there too. The Corps were not often involved in battles with natives: the dragons were as of yet too valuable for small skirmishes, the number of formations stationed in the colonies numbering no more than ten, spread out over the coastline. But they had clashed with various tribes, on occasion, mostly during attempts to expand west: she had seen even more battle since she had been promoted to second lieutenant on Obversaria, instead of serving as a midwingman on Inconcussus, under Captain Bailey. Peggy’s emotions had been conflicted: she enjoyed life in the Corps immensely, and had made many friends, but sometimes she would catch herself staring at a face not unlike her own, on the other side of the battle. _I am an accomplice to my own murder,_ she had thought once, wildly; the thought had clung to her mind like cobweb. 

And, “It is not only that,” she said quietly. She had not said this anyone in her family; it was the very reason for her return home. “You know my father is a Patriot,” this word too in English, “and he has not been quiet.” She found she did not need to say more; understanding had dawned on Waneek’s face. 

“Ah,” she said, and the depth of understanding in that single noise gently eroded the dam Peggy had built against the wave of emotion that had been steadily been growing ever since she had realized what she must do. She had had some time to come to terms with the facts: the past days she had only felt resigned. But now, when she knew there was a sympathetic ear ready to listen, she could not contain herself. Peggy’s eyes burned traitorously. “I wish he would have been quiet,” she choked out, uncharitably: her father had given her everything that had been in his power to give, and now she was demanding more. But the torrent would not stop now, once she passed this critical point. “I wish he had never joined the Assembly, I wish he had not spoke out, I wish he was never in Congress. I know it is a good and just thing we are doing, and I too wish for independence! Only I wish I could stay in the service; I am no good anywhere else.” Peggy scrubbed the back of her hand across her eyes, roughly wiping away the tears. 

Waneek put down her weaving, tentatively reaching out a hand. Peggy had never been prone to outbursts of emotion, now or in the past: it was more the way of her siblings. She found she did not quite know what to do with all these tears, or with Waneek’s hand: she did not know what would best comfort her. Waneek settled her hand on Peggy’s shoulder and shuffled closer. 

“It is alright to be upset; you have never known another life,” Waneek said, shushing Peggy and wiping her tears away with her thumbs. “Of course you cannot know if you are good for anything else, if you have never tried it: perhaps you are an excellent writer, or a teacher, or, or -” 

“- a wampum weaver?” Peggy broke in wetly, holding up her sad string of beads as an example of her skill. “You know these are not things I can pursue in earnest, in this time: I will not be able to support myself. If I am to not starve to death, or become a spinster forever living in the house of my parents, I must marry.” Peggy’s stomach clenched at the thought of it. Marriage seemed a fine thing - to know that there was always someone beside you, through everything! Eliza and Angelica both seemed to consider it a wonderful prospect in their own ways, but Peggy had never been able to muster their enthusiasm when the subject turned to the bachelors of New York. Men were nice enough creatures, good for heavy lifting and usually reliable in a pinch, but Peggy had never seen the appeal of settling down with one for the rest of your life. Perhaps she had simply yet to meet the right one. 

Waneek’s face turned sympathetic. “You don’t _have_ to marry. You could come live with the tribe!" 

Peggy shook her head. “It is no life for me,” she said. “I fear I will always think myself back to the Corps, no matter where in life I go: even if I am the housekeeper, the governess, the spinster - in my heart I shall always be Lieutenant Schuyler of the Aerial Corps.” 

“Well,” said Waneek, and fell silent: there was not much she could say in response. For the rest of the evening they sat side-by-side, neither of them speaking a word, each consumed with their own thoughts. 

Peggy decided not to prolong her own suffering any further, and requested a private word with her parents before dinner the very next day. 

“Father,” Peggy began, haltingly: she did not know the most prudent manner of phrasing, in this matter. However, she knew that Philip had always favored straightforwardness and honesty in his company, and thus she spoke, after taking a deep breath in preparation: “Father, I believe I must soon take my leave of the Corps. I wish not to place any blame on your shoulders and indeed I wish to assure you that your actions have only hastened my decision and not made it for me, but the truth of the matter is that the recent events in the colonies and your involvement in them presents a damning picture of my appropriateness as an officer of His Majesty’s Aerial Corps.” 

Her father’s face was grim but not surprised: he, too, knew what would happen, and he had acted still. Peggy did indeed not blame him in her heart, but she could not keep a childish anger out of soul; because of him she would have to leave behind a life not perhaps comfortable, but _liberated_ : where she was the master of her own life; where she might one day have been made captain, and secured her future, without need of a husband. 

She continued, giving no voice to the unrest in her mind, “Because of these circumstances I have chosen to tender my resignation, before my commanding officer must make that awkward decision for us, and thusly spare us both pain, and myself a degree of disgrace, which otherwise might have followed a discharge.” 

Her mother was watching her with shining eyes: tears not of sadness but of joy, Peggy knew; her mother had never been fond of Philip’s decision to hand her to the Corps, but neither did she wish to rob Peggy of the happiness she could see was brought to her daughter by her service. Now, it seemed her mother’s prayers for a dutiful, proper daughter had been answered, and without none of them having to make a decision Peggy might have resented them for: her unhappiness would be her own doing. 

She shifted her eyes from her mother’s face down to her own hands; they were calloused and scarred from years of work on dragon-back; her left ring-finger was crooked from where she had broken it the first time she had been up in action. Peggy abruptly remembered the exhilaration of it: her blood rushing through her body and igniting her, the wind whipping her hair, Obversaria’s bunched muscle under her hands and the smell of gun-powder and blood in the air. If only there was some way that she might retain such a life - 

“However,” she said, moving her gaze up again to meet her father’s: he had been preparing to speak, his mouth open; now he shut it again, raising his brows at her in mild admonishment. Peggy plowed on, not wishing to stop for a moment, now that the idea had taken root: she did not know when else she might have the opportunity to bring it up. Her life from now on would be confined to the house, learning those home-tending skills she had neglected in favor of learning the pistol and sword; and her father would be in the field, and not be readily accessible to her. “I have considered -” not a lie, even if she had only considered it for a moment - “and I do believe that our own militia will have need of women officers, if they are to raise a proper force against the British: they will need a Longwing, or some cross of it, and they will not have men as their companions, as you know. It is my intention - with of course your blessing - to join such a militia, that employs both women and dragons, and aspire to one day be granted the privilege of my own beast, if luck and God wills it.” 

Peggy finally closed her mouth on the torrent of words; she did not quite know from where they had sprung - except, of course, she did: they had sprung from the same place in her that had caused her father to give her to the Corps, despite the protestations of her mother, so that she may serve their country, and not hassle Father about battle tactics quite so frequently. She saw in her father’s face that he too knew this. She did not dare look at her mother, who would surely protest the suggestion, and instead shifted her eyes down again, and attempted to relax her legs from the tense state she had drove them to during her outburst. 

At last her father spoke. “A pretty speech,” he said, a little dry: Peggy flushed with embarrassment. “No, no, have no shame, dear heart; I am proud to have a child so well-spoken, and who does not forget courtesy in her haste,” here he winked; he meant, of course, dear Angelica. Nonetheless his voice was as proud as his words claimed, and Peggy felt a stirring of hope. 

Philip continued, “I have come to understand during the years of your service, and during both Angelica and Betsey’s journey to adulthood, that I have been given a collection of high-spirited, determined women as my daughters. I would wish of course to see you all safe and secure in your futures above all -” here Peggy almost burst in again; he meant marriage, of course, and if he were implying that Peggy should have to yield to his desires and marry! but to her great relief he continued - “but I am beginning to realize that perhaps my wishes are not paramount in these decisions. Your happiness instead ought to be my goal in life, and where I cannot myself grant it to you, I should instead endeavour to allow you to claim it yourselves, such as my parents once taught my brothers and I. It is in light of these revelations, shall we call them, that I must now take a step back, and advise your mother to do the same: I mean to say, Margarita, that if this is what you want; if it is what you believe will bring you happiness in this life, then I will not be the one to deny you.” 

Peggy felt her own eyes prickle with tears in response to this statement; to not only be allowed such a course of action, but to have it blessed! And her father was a clever man, to be sure: he had helped organize the Continental Congress, and fought in battles: he would tell her, if he believed her course foolish and unlikely to succeed. Her father smiled kindly at her, reaching out to give her hand a gentle pat, the same way he had when Peggy had been a child and come to him with a scrape, or a sting from Angelica’s sharp tongue: it meant he was not quite sure what to say, or do. 

Her mother sighed. Peggy started, blinking quickly to banish her tears, and looked to her. Her mother’s face was a little tired, the lines around her eyes and mouth seeming deeper than usual. Most people of their acquaintance exclaimed over the likeness between Peggy and her father, but in this moment Peggy could not help but catalogue the similarities between herself and her mother: the same brown skin, passed down to them from grandmother Kahente, the straight, shining dark brown hair, and above all the same challenging look of the eye. 

“I know we do not always see eye to eye, dear heart,” her mother said, a little awkwardly. Peggy held her breath, meeting her mother’s eyes head on. She could feel how much hung on this moment; on her mother’s words. It was true that Peggy had turned out to be the more rebellious daughter, in deed if not words - that would always be Angelica - but even she did not wish to directly contradict her mother’s wishes. But she could sense now that she was set on this course, and if her mother did not like it she would simply have to learn. But such a rift might never be mended, and it was best if it never appeared. It was in this spirit that Peggy reached out to her mother, such as her father had reached out to her, and in the same clumsy fashion grasped her mother’s gentle hands between her own rough ones. Her mother’s wrinkles smoothed out at the gesture, and she returned Peggy’s grip. “And I cannot speak so handsomely as your father and yourself, but I must express my support of his sentiments: of course I would see you safe, but a mother always knows her daughter’s heart as her own, and I know the future your father and I would lay out for you would not be one you agreed to.” She gave Peggy the ghost of a wry smile, and her father chuckled. 

“You know what I think of this business with aviators; you are clever enough to know my heart in return. But pray know, that all my complaints, all my misgivings, stemmed from a desire to spare you from heartbreak. I know from your father, and indeed from my own father, your honorable grandfather, the rigors of service, and the pain you must inevitably carry following those battles that must be fought in such a career.” Philip shifted a little uncomfortably next to her mother; he had never spoken of the demons that followed one home from the field, but Peggy did not doubt that he had felt them creeping in his shadow. She could herself from time to time jump to preparation at noises that echoed a pistol shot, or wake in the night with the sight of blood staining her hands behind her eyelids. In this, too, they were alike. “But I see now that you are as determined as myself, perhaps even more so. I think that it is time for you to become your own woman, and for me to accept it, as my own mother did me. It pains to have nothing more to offer my own daughter than a shoulder to steady herself on, and a sympathetic ear to call upon, but it is nonetheless the paltry offering I must lay at your feet.” Her mother finished her speech by giving a tremulous smile. 

“ _Ista,_ no!” Peggy said, squeezing her mother’s hands. “It is as you say: I am most determined, and it gladdens me that neither of you will attempt to sway me from my path, for surely it will only cause us all anguish. But ista, you are much more to me than a mere shoulder, or an ear: you must know, you and _raké:ni_ and all my siblings are the ones most dear to my heart.” 

Her father cleared his throat; he too was blinking with suspicious rapidness, but Peggy made no mention of it: men could be sensitive about such things being acknowledged. “Well,” he said, with a rough voice, and clasped his hands together briskly, as if to pronounce the whole thing done. Peggy was a little relieved: there had been a great many tears all around, it seemed, and she had never quite known what to do with those; neither did she know how to… _conclude_ this discussion, so it was just as well that Philip did it, in his slightly bluff way. “Peggy, I will see if I cannot scrounge up some fellow who knows more of the militias than myself, and send him a missive. Tekahionwake, dearest, I will see you by dinnertime?” 

Her mother gave Peggy a slightly amused look behind Philip’s back; he had stood up, and gone to rustle amongst some papers on his desk, his back turned to them. “Of course, darling, “ Tekahionwake said, rising gracefully, and smoothing her dress down. Peggy rose with her, unsure, and, casting one final look at her father, followed her out of the room. Tekahionwake gently closed the door to Philip’s study behind them. She reached out and brushed a wayward strand of hair back from Peggy’s forehead. “ _Keyeaha,_ ” she said tenderly. “It seems that we have said all that must be said, but I wish to tell you one more thing, before you rush away to your dragons again: you will always have a home here, in Albany, with us. I know it does not appeal to you, to live here with us forever, but the door will nonetheless be open to you, should you wish to enter.” 

“ _Niá:wen, ista,_ ” Peggy said, smiling. Her mother smiled back, before smoothing her skirts down once again, and, shaking off the last of her sentimentality, strode down to the hall, towards the kitchen to prepare dinner. Peggy lingered there in the hall for a moment, listening to the bustle of the house, completely unchanged from an hour ago, even though it felt as though the whole world had shifted and spun. 

Peggy could feel, now, after having made her own brash decision, that perhaps she should have taken some more time to think on it, and consider the pure logistics of such an endeavour. It was after all not so sure that they would somehow acquire a Longwing, or a Xenica, or some other breed who would demand a woman, and even if they did, perhaps it would not want a companion! Such a notion was not so unthinkable among the colonials and natives as it was among the Corps. Peggy realized with some dismay that she might have been said, in some small way, to have lied to her father by not revealing this, and had indeed founded her entire argument on this particular pillar. Guilt squirmed in her belly, but she resolutely squashed it: her father was intelligent, and surely knew enough of the militia’s business to know if they had no plans to take on women, in which case he would tell her, instead of letting her go on in this way. 

She banished these thoughts, and with one final look at the door of her father’s study, went to her rooms, to compose a letter to Captain Lenton. She could already feel it taking shape in her mind: _August 5th 1776. Dear Sir, it is with utmost Regret I must inform You of my Decision to resign from His Majesty’s Aerial Corps. I know that this does not come as a complete Surprise to You...._


	2. Chapter 2

\- Schuyler Mansion’s location and appearance is 100 % real, except for the dragon motel; I must’ve spent a whole day researching just the house and the location of the Kanien’kehá:ka village. I used this website a lot, for those interested: http://www.schuylerfriends.org/ Historically, the Mahican people occupied the areas around the Hudson River, while the Kanien’kehá:ka lived along the Mohawk river, a little to the northwest. But conflict with the Kanien’kehá:ka caused them to move east, into Massachusetts and Connecticut. I have no idea if that happened in this ‘verse, but I wanted Peggy to pass by over the village, so that’s where it is! Let’s call it artistic license.

\- The Schuylers were also one of the most prominent slaveholding families in New York; I didn’t know how the indigenous Americans would feel about slavery in this ‘verse, so I left it out. But I do think it’s important to remember that at least 13 slaves worked in Schuyler Mansion in 1790.

\- The Haastig-Vleugel is a completely made up courier-breed; “haastig” means quick, “vleugel” means wing in Dutch. It felt appropriate to have a Dutch breed in New York, since they were one of the first European countries to colonize/invade the New York area.

\- The Schuyler siblings in this story were born in this order: Angelica (1756), Eliza (1757), Peggy (1758), John Bradstreet (1765), Philip Jeremiah (1768), Rensselaer (1773), Cornelia (1776, she’s the one Tehakionwake is pregnant with). Peggy's seen her pregnant a lot for sure.

\- Tekahionwake and her family is also completely made up, sadly, but it’s very obvious from the books that indigenous Americans played a large role in the American Revolution and I wanted them to have a central place in this story, so I figured why not make them the main characters?

\- The people Angelica is writing letters to are real, though: “Mr Kaintwakon” is Cornplanter, a Seneca war chief and diplomat. He’s also a member of the wolf clan, same as Angelica and her siblings, so maybe she’s hoping to score some points on account of that. "Madam Degonwadonti” is Molly Brant, the wife of Sir William Johnson, the British Superintendent of Indian Affairs. Angelica’s taking a bit of a risk here, as Molly Brant seemed pretty devoted to her husband and the Crown, but maybe she’s more sympathetic here. In real life, both Cornplanter and Molly Brant on the British side in the war, same as a lot of indigenous Americans, but in my head they’re Patriots, or at least on the fence. I wanted Angelica to be more active in politics here, because indigenous women have historically often been very active in the governing of their communities, so I reckon she took a page from Ojistah’s book and Philip just threw his hands up.

\- The destruction of the _Nancy_ was a real thing; she was carrying gunpowder and arms to Philadelphia, but was stopped by a British blockade.

\- I have also never experienced the kind of things Peggy talks about; this is just things I have picked up from others, so hopefully it’s not completely tone-deaf. Feel free to tell me if it is!

\- Feel free to headcanon Peggy's appearance as long as you remember that she's Native! I used actress Devery Jacobs as a starting point. I even compared her and a portrait of Philip Schuyler, lol

\- Inconcussus and Captain Bailey are made up, but Inconcussus is a Xenica and a formation leader. They later defect to the Continental Army.

\- “The Assembly” is the New York Assembly, formed in 1768. This was the start of Philip Schuyler’s political career; it was here he became more opposed to the colonial government. “Congress” is the Continental Congress.

\- FYI, Peggy can’t marry because she’s a lesbian.

**Author's Note:**

> wheeew okay!! thanks so much for reading this all the way to the end; please hit kudos if you liked it! i would love to hear your thoughts about this fic and this 'verse in general, so feel free to leave a comment or hit me up on tumblr (gaywix.tumblr.com)! thanks a thousand times to kate deerdad on tumblr for being a wonderful sounding board and reading this through and pointing out all my mistakes. lastly, there are some notes in the next chapter on the historical facts of this story, because i can't help myself. kanien'kehá:ka words in the story are: ista (mom), raké:ni (dad), niá:wen (thank you), keyeaha (my daughter).
> 
> edit 16/7 2017: changed Deganawidah's name to Desagondensta, after some research revealed that Deganawidah appears to be something of an honorary title or name for the great peacemaker and that it might be disrespectful to name a character after it.


End file.
